


Contentment

by Norangutan



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22287334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Norangutan/pseuds/Norangutan
Summary: Dorian and Bull embrace.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Josephine Montilyet, Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 11
Kudos: 40
Collections: Actually Adoribull Fic, The Collected Fanfics for the Adoribull Reverse Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2019 Adoribull Reverse Bang! There are so many other great works in this collection already, and you should definitely check them out.
> 
> Artwork by badpriestessofbuttsburgh at https://badpriestessofbuttsburgh.tumblr.com/ (she's also got some other really good stuff. there's a whole tag. cliiiiiiiiiiick)

Dorian stared at the bottom of his mug and sighed. There it was again. He lifted his head, made eye contact with the bartender, and gave gave the mug in his hand a little shake in the universal “I’m empty” gesture. The bartender nodded, but was slow in finishing his task at the other end of the bar. Dorian couldn’t blame him. It was a slow night in this backwater of backwaters, a village about half a day’s ride from Redcliffe. Dorian supposed that if he had had to spend his whole life here, he wouldn’t feel like moving very much, either.

He shifted when the Herald—no, it was Inquisitor now—sat next to him. “Cadash. A pleasure.”

“Pavus,” she started, then winced as Dorian winced. “Sorry. I mean, you look… thirsty.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” said Dorian grandly, patting her on the back. “It’s a perfectly legitimate way to deal with one’s family. Just ask my mother.”

“Sure,” said Cadash, her lips thinning, ironically, much as Dorian’s mother’s would have. Then her expression softened. “Look, Dorian—”

“Ah, ah,” interrupted Dorian, waving a finger. “No pity. We agreed. I get to put my past behind me and no one gets to say they’re sorry for how it turned out. This is for the best. We should be celebrating.”

Cadash just barely stopped herself from looking around the tavern. “Yes, this is exactly the place I would expect you to party.”

“It’s not about the location! It’s about the people!”

Cadash really did look around the nearly empty room this time. “So I see. Is the sleepy one or the weepy one your dance partner?”

“O ye of little faith,” sighed Dorian. “A few more drinks and I’m sure even this bartender will liven up. Do you know I’ve been waiting nearly ten minutes for a refill?”

“What are you even drinking?” said Cadash, leaning over his mug and grimacing.

“House special, or so I’m lead to believe.” Dorian glanced down. “It’s not terrible, actually.”

“You should be cut off for that comment alone.”

“I rescind it entirely, then. My taste buds have all died disgustingly ignoble deaths. I mourn their loss not at all.” He waved his cup at the bartender again in resignation.

The bartender meandered over and filled it with an earthen pitcher from under the bar. Dorian eyed the edge where it disappeared from his view with what seemed, to him at least, to be the beginnings of a cunning plot.

“Don’t you dare.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You want to fill your own glass without having to wait. You’re going to get us thrown out.”

“I am not!” Dorian drew himself up with as much indignity—or, no, wait. The other one. Indignancy. Indignance. Indignation! That was it—as he could muster. “I was simply considering the efficacy of expediting—”

“Oh, for the love of…” Cadash ran a hand through her beard and sighed. “I don’t care what expeditious expediting excursions you were about to execute, but I need you to cut it out.”

“Excide?”

“I don’t know what that means, but sure. Please don’t steal the disgusting house special. It’s not worth it.” Cadash stood up from her chair and made one more glance around the room. She needn’t have bothered. No one had been paying attention to anything but their individual drinks for longer than Dorian had been in the room. They hadn’t seen or heard anything of his scheme, including the bartender. “At least try to drink some water in between swigs of that stuff, all right?”

“Are you going somewhere?” Dorian could help neither the pleading note in his voice nor the disappointed look on his face.

“Sor—” Cadash began, but stopped herself. “Yes. Blackwall and I are going to go look a few items up. Apparently it’s a Grey Warden thing.”

“Of course.” Dorian might not like being left alone at the moment, but if he had learned anything during his childhood, it was how to be gracious in the face of disappointment.

“But if you’d rather I stay…”

“No, no. Go off with the uncombed half bear, half man monstrosity.” All right, maybe not gracious. But he could never help a few knocks against the unkempt Warden. Especially not after a few drinks, if he was being completely honest.

“If the darkspawn don’t mind a few tangles, I sure won’t,” said Cadash. “Wardens have more important things to worry about.”

“Oh, undoubtedly, but he doesn’t take care of them either, does he? Facial hair isn’t something you just let happen. I mean, just look at the state of his mustache.”

Cadash sighed, but it was more fond than exasperated. “Just promise me the water, will you? Or that you’ll have the presence of mind to cut yourself off after you’ve had enough.”

“Never fear, my dear Inquisitor. I know how to handle my liquor. I’ve been training for this since before I was born, if my mother’s drinking habits are anything to go by.”

Cadash couldn’t stop the flicker of horror and pity in her eyes, and for a moment Dorian hated her for it. But she steeled herself and glared at him despite her kinder intentions, and Dorian’s gut unclenched. “I’m serious, Dorian. Either watch yourself or I will have someone watch over you.”

Dorian looked to the heavens and sighed heavily. “Then I suppose I will drink some water.”

“Thank you. I’ll be back soon.”

“Au revoir,” said Dorian, waving his hand in the Orlesian fashion as she left. He didn’t know if he had just lied to his only friend in Ferelden or if he had made a solemn promise to finally start taking care of himself, but he knew which one was more likely. The knowledge didn’t help his mood at all. He glared at the bartender, who was just visible in the back room, and leaned over the bar to grab the pitcher of ale. His chair creaked slightly as he poured into his cup.

Somehow this, out of everything else he had ever done to make the man move faster than an uninspired amble, was what made the bartender dash to his rightful post that was in front of Dorian’s seat. How had he even noticed what Dorian was doing? His back had been turned.

“And a glass of water, please,” added Dorian sheepishly, putting the pitcher of ale down.

The bartender gave him a dark look and moved the pitcher pointedly out of Dorian’s reach. But he did go to the pump in the back to draw up some water.

Dorian eyed the new glass distastefully. In Minrathous, a bartender—or any vendor, for that matter—would at least have had a rune of some sort to conjure water in a basin or pitcher. The water would be sweet-smelling and pure, not—here, Dorian sniffed the glass and recoiled in vindicated disgust—sulfurous and slightly warmer than room temperature. Ferelden. He sighed, then gagged as the smell of rotten eggs lodged in the back of his throat.

“Hey. Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” said a deep voice behind him.

Dorian spun in his seat to face The Iron Bull, who was sitting at the table right in Dorian’s blind spot. For how long, Dorian wondered. He had not heard the Qunari come in—but then, Dorian hardly ever heard Bull when Bull didn’t want to be heard. Bull could be surprisingly—disturbingly—silent. Dorian figured it was part of his Ben Hassrath training, and resolved to keep any dark, accusatory looks to himself. There was no reason to make the spy pay him any undue attention.

Bull caught him staring anyway and tipped his own glass politely, then brought it to his lips.

“You can’t seriously drink that. It’s…” Dorian’s automatic protests died on his lips as he watched Bull swallow.

“It’s not so bad, really. Better as bath water. This place must have been built on a hot spring.” Bull ran his tongue over his teeth thoughtfully, gazing into the glass in his hand.

“If this is what they make their ale out of, I understand so much more than I ever thought necessary,” said Dorian.

The bartender behind him cleared his throat.

“In a good way, to be sure,” said Dorian, and made a hasty retreat to Bull’s table. It seemed suddenly much safer than his previous seat.

Bull grinned at him. “Good move. Anything else you get from that man is probably going to have at least one bodily fluid in it. Besides, the waitress is a lot cuter.”

Dorian made a noise of disinterest before he could help it, and straightened in chagrin. “Indeed,” he said, after clearing his throat.

“She’s a lot faster on the refills, too,” said Bull as she came around and topped up his glass.

“Ah. I’m half in love with her already.” Dorian didn’t even move and she was pouring more ale in his mug. He flashed her a dashing smile and she rolled her eyes in a visual echo of the disinterest he had voiced only a scant minute before. It was, in all honesty, as perfect an interaction with a pretty Fereldan woman as he could ask for.

“Rough day yesterday?” Bull raised an eyebrow at Dorian’s long swig.

“You were there,” said Dorian, a shade testily. “You were right outside.”

“With Blackwall, yeah. Minding my own business.”

“Wish you’d keep that up,” muttered Dorian.

Bull shrugged. “Mostly I just want to know what topics I need to stay away from if you’re going to keep drinking all afternoon.”

Dorian sputtered. “So you bring it right up? Just like that?”

“Get it out in the open now, I don’t have to worry about accidentally stepping on my toes later. And if I do misstep, you get to be right about being angry, instead of biting my head off and feeling bad about it during your hangover tomorrow morning. Everyone wins. Except you with the hangover.” Bull sipped his water.

Dorian couldn’t argue with his logic, so he tried a different tactic. “If I keep drinking into the morning, I won’t have a morning hangover.”

Bull shot him a look that said he had clearly overestimated either Dorian’s sobriety or his cognitive abilities. “That’s… true.”

“Aha.” Dorian raised a toast and drank without waiting for Bull to join in.

“I do notice you haven’t answered my question, though,” said Bull in a neutral tone.

“Which question is that?”

“The one about what happened yesterday.”

Dorian sighed. “It was nothing. I spoke with my father.”

Bull frowned, then grunted and took a sip of his gross sulfur water. “I see.”

“You see?” said Dorian, a tad shrilly. “You can’t—You—You only have one eye!”

Bull threw back his head and laughed. “True, it affects my depth perception. But that doesn’t mean I can’t see into your depths.” He fixed his eye on Dorian and waggled his eyebrows.

Dorian groaned. “That was terrible. You can’t be serious.”

Bull’s eyebrow continued its ridiculous movement. His smile just grew wider.

“How could you possibly know what I’m drinking about just because I said I talked with my father? Your people don’t even have parents. You don’t know what it’s like.” Dorian sat back and crossed his arms.

“Heh. ‘Drinking about.’ Good one.” Bull also sat back, mirroring Dorian except for the smile.

Dorian glared at him.

“All right, all right, fine. Yes, it is a Ben-Hassrath thing, but not in the way you think. We have to understand ‘vints and ‘vint culture, so we learn about parents and lineages and expectations and all that stuff.”

Dorian’s glower deepened. “To try and turn us, no doubt. Find a weakness. A chink in the armor. A blot in the spell scroll.”

“Oh, yeah, obviously. But it’s a lot harder than we thought it’d be, so it’s not an avenue we stroll down often. Why?” Bull’s grin took on a wolfish edge. “Are you saying this is your weak point? Think you’ll turn on your family just because they’ve turned their back on you?”

Dorian’s nostrils flared, his whole body tensing with the effort of not throwing an instinctive fireball at this insolent Ben-Hassrath’s head. “Never,” he hissed.

There was a long moment as Bull stared at him, hard. Dorian felt as though he was being evaluated, though for what, he couldn’t say. What would a Qunari spy look for in a Tevinter pariah, anyway? What would he find? Slowly, he forced himself to relax.

Bull blinked, and the moment was over. “Yeah, fine,” he said, and took another sip of water.

“Fine?” Dorian was gobsmacked.

“Yup. Fine.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Dorian reached for his ale, then stopped. “Surely there’s more to it than a—a simple question followed by a glaring contest.”

“You’d be surprised what they teach you in Ben-Hassrath school. And don’t call me Shirley.” Bull grinned.

“Oh, for the love of—You already knew, didn’t you? You knew I told my father I never wanted to see him again and left without hearing what he had to say to me. I can’t be afraid of something I’ve already done. I’ve already turned my back on my family.” Dorian sank to the table and put his head in his arms. “I did that a long time ago.”

“Some betrayals run deeper than others,” said Bull after a pause.

Dorian lifted his head a little. “I’m sorry?”

Bull shifted in his seat—uncomfortably, it seemed to Dorian. “Well, refusing to speak to your father isn’t exactly treason, is it? Sounds more like a family matter to me.”

Dorian’s head sank back to his arms. “Those Ben-Hassrath teachers of yours aren’t very good if you’re making that type of distinction to a Tevinter magister. I’d demand a refund, if I were you.”

“Right back at you, Vint. My education was free. And aren’t you an altus? You guys sure love your rank and status.”

Dorian waved a hand dismissively over his head. “We’re the only ones who care. To everyone in this room, I’m a magister. Might as well embrace it.”

“It must be annoying, to leave behind everything you know and love—and hate, really—only to be judged for it wherever you go,” said Bull thoughtfully. “Some people will only ever see one thing when they look at you.”

Dorian’s head snapped up. “I am not nearly drunk enough for that conversation,” he said, and caught the waitress’s eye. She came over and filled his mug with more ale.

Bull gestured to his water glass and held up two fingers.

“I saw that,” grumbled Dorian.

“They’re both for me,” said Bull, winking.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Fine, fine, we can share. If you insist.”

Dorian groaned into his cup. “The Inquisitor put you up to this, did she?”

“No,” said Bull, nodding his thanks to the waitress as she brought him two glasses of fragrant water.

“You didn’t talk beforehand?”

“Not a word,” smiled Bull.

“A look, then. You’re good at reading those.”

“Nope. There was nothing between us. Honest.”

Dorian sighed and took a gulp of ale. There were only a few things in life that confused him until he thought about them, and fewer still would never make sense at all, but he had a feeling Bull was going to destroy those statistics. It was not a comforting thought.

“I did overhear your conversation, though,” said Bull.

Dorian couldn’t help but chuckle. “That’s it. The Qunari agent tells all his tricks and secrets. The clever Tevinter mage has broken him using…” He glanced at their respective drinks, “…reverse drunkenness.”

“You know, that’s ridiculous enough that I wouldn’t be surprised to read about it in one of Varric’s stories. You’d better get a copyright on that quick.” Bull drained his glass and slammed it down with an over-dramatic sigh.

“Let me get in touch with my publisher,” said Dorian.

The conversation took a comfortable lull, mostly because Bull didn’t seem to feel the need to keep talking. Dorian just wanted to drink. It was nice to have distractions from drinking, but since drinking was really a distraction itself, he figured he ought to get down to business. And it was nice not to have to drink alone. Soon Dorian was drunk enough to take a swig of anything put in front of him, which Bull used to give him the occasional glass of water. Dorian thought it made the ale taste better, and decided nothing was so bad that disgusting sulfurous water couldn’t make better by comparison.

“All right, Vint,” said Bull finally, after Dorian had tried to share this last thought. “’Sloofrus’ is not a word. It’s time for you to go to bed.”

“Didn’t say ‘sloofrus,’” said Dorian, swaying to his feet. “Said ‘sulfus.’ Sluoo…rferus. Fu-ss-foo… Egg smell. Bad. Bad egg smell.”

“It’s in the water, yes,” said Bull, guiding him to the door and waving everyone in the tavern goodnight. “You’ve mentioned.”

“’S not so bad,” said Dorian. “Makes everything else better.”

“In the morning I’m going to ask you about that logic,” said Bull, walking him down the lane and toward the inn they were staying at.

Dorian grimaced. “Ugh. Morning.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not dehydrated enough to have a real bad hangover. And you had that bread pudding the waitress said was the house special. You’ll be fine.”

“Everything’s the house special there,” said Dorian. “You! You made her say that. I thought she meant more ale.”

“Damn, I thought I’d gotten that by you. You’re too quick for me, Vint.” Bull held steady as Dorian stepped around a puddle, then opened the door to the inn.

Dorian made a valiant attempt at the stairs but sat down at the end of the first flight. “Why’re you being so nice to me?” he asked as Bull pulled him to his feet.

Bull shrugged, then steadied Dorian as he stumbled at the movement. “You haven’t tried to kill me or call an Exalted March on my people all night. I figure you must be okay.”

Dorian turned to him as they stopped in front of his room. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he mumbled, and put his arms around Bull’s midsection.

Something in that same midsection lurched, but Bull stayed where he was. Eventually he put his arms around Dorian’s back and held them there loosely. “Thank… you.”

They stayed like that in front of Dorian’s room for a few seconds until Dorian straightened. “This feels wrong,” he said, frowning.

“You just noticed? You must be worse off than I thought,” said Bull, hiding a laugh.

“Oh, shut up and help me find my key,” said Dorian, patting down his pockets.

Bull waited as Dorian fished them out by himself. What was he supposed to do, reach into Dorian’s pockets? “Good night, Dorian,” he said as Dorian put his key into the lock.

Dorian grumbled something unintelligible, then turned back before stepping into his room. “Good night.” He shut the door behind him and slid to the floor, putting his head in his hands. A hug? For The Iron Bull? What had he been thinking? Confusion, irritation, and some nameless dread chased themselves around in his mind as he stumbled back up and over to the bed on the other side of the room. Ignoring the scratchiness of the sheets, he pulled the covers up to his chin and lay in the darkness quietly. One of his last thoughts before falling asleep was that as far as distractions went, this was pretty damn effective.

Outside the room, just on the other side of the door, Bull stood staring at the handle, absentmindedly rubbing his belly. “Why’s it always got to be the pretty ones,” he mumbled to himself, and turned to go back to his own bed.


	2. Chapter 2

Dorian wasn’t with them on the Storm Coast when it happened, but he heard about it almost as soon as they—that is, the Inquisitor and the Chargers—got back.

On the one hand, it was obvious that he should be with Bull to talk about what had occurred. At the very least, he ought to know where they stood vis-a-vis the Tevinter altus versus Tal Vashoth thing.

On the other, he was absolutely sure that this was not how they had done things in the past. He wasn’t even sure that Bull would welcome the intrusion into his personal life.

He paced around his room, stopping every few steps to look out the window and gaze down at The Herald’s Rest. He knew that’s where Bull would be by now, drinking with Krem and the others in the back area he frequented most days. Between the talking, laughing, and singing, Dorian was well aware that it would be impossible to hold a quiet, honest conversation.

That was how Bull liked it, Dorian supposed. He was truly impressed at how often Bull seemed to find himself in exactly the situation he wanted to be in, often through little to no obvious effort to make it so. Avoiding heart-to-hearts was one of his specialties, and up until now it had been one of the many reasons Dorian had appreciated their… relationship, for lack of a better word. They didn’t have to talk, they could just…

Dorian cleared his throat and looked out the window again. The trust was there, despite his attempts to ignore it. What had started as a one-night-only fling had continued, and had now been going for… Dorian choked back a laugh as he realized he would have to start counting months if he wanted an exact date. He didn’t believe he would keep going back if some part of him thought Bull was untrustworthy, or… “Treacherous” seemed too strong a word, but considering this most recent development, perhaps it was the most appropriate. Or least. It was hard to tell.

No, the problem was not that there was no trust between them. The problem was that their trust was based on a mutual, unspoken agreement that feelings and inner thoughts had no place in the bedroom. Breaking that trust seemed unwise, if not completely unnecessary to continue as they had been for the last season. Talking about anything serious would be difficult, but talking about Bull’s recent demotion to Tal Vashoth? It could break everything. Especially if the only reason he brought it up was to ask, “How are you?”

“Some betrayals run deeper than others,” said a voice in his heart, and that decided Dorian’s mind more thoroughly than any real argument could. He had to talk to Bull. As he stood in front of the window, he crossed his arms and began to plot his next move. He would have to do this carefully…

“I was wondering when you’d stop by,” said Bull as he closed his bedroom door behind him. “I have to admit, I didn’t think it would be this soon.”

Dorian, if he had been holding note cards, felt like a gust of wind had blown them all out of his hands. He watched them fly away in his mind’s eye and sighed. “Oh? You were expecting this?”

Bull lit the lamp and grinned at Dorian, sitting on the edge of Bull’s bed in the shadows.”You’ve never been good at subtle, Dorian.”

“Never been good at—You haven’t seen me since you left!” said Dorian, mildly outraged.

“I could hear you pacing as soon as I rode in the gates,” said Bull coolly.

“That is a lie. I didn’t know until—” Dorian narrowed his eyes at him. “You want to know who told me.”

Bull sighed. “I know it was the Boss. It sure as hell wasn’t me or my guys.”

Dorian shrugged. It was true. “Don’t blame her, Bull. It was a courtesy, nothing more. She thought I’d want to hear about it from someone who was there, not the usual gossip mill.”

“Josephine’s getting to her,” Bull grunted, sitting down at the foot of the bed just out of Dorian’s reach.

Dorian hesitated, considering this new analysis. “That’s… a good point. Do you think they’re—”

Bull looked up at him from removing his leg brace, hope and interest gleaming in his eye. Any other day, Dorian would have been happy to trade rumors and talk idly about anyone in Skyhold, but right now was different.

“Do I think they’re what?” Bull asked after a moment’s silence.

“You really don’t want to talk about this, do you?” said Dorian, standing.

Bull stiffened. “I didn’t say that.”

“Of course not. You never say anything.” Dorian cursed inwardly. He hadn’t wanted this to become a fight, and look what he had just started. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

Bull took a long look at him, and relaxed. “Sorry for what? You’re right, I don’t say much. I thought… I thought it was mutual. One of those things we do.”

Dorian walked back to the foot of the bed and sat next to him. “It doesn’t have to be something we do all the time,” he said. “After all, if I remember correctly, our first real conversation consisted of me telling you all my family’s sordid secrets. Perhaps we ought to continue that tradition.”

Bull snorted. “All your family’s sordid secrets? You said, and I quote, ‘I talked to my father.’” His tone was one of fond exasperation, but Dorian did not appreciate the sarcasm that was mixed in there.

“It was enough for you, wasn’t it?” Dorian threw his hands up peevishly. “What more did I have to say?”

Chuckling, Bull acquiesced. “True. But I think you and I remember that conversation very differently. We ended up not really talking at all.”

Dorian frowned, thinking back to that evening nearly a year before. Bull was right, it did feel different and always had. He remembered really opening up to Bull and pouring his heart and soul out, and all Bull had to do was listen and nod. But thinking back over what he had actually said, he had to admit that nothing said at the table was of any great consequence. He found this new take on an old embarrassment reassuring overall, yet frustrating in the moment. This put a real roadblock in his plans. He would have to change tack somehow. Against his better judgment, he said, “If you want, we can… not really talk at all… now?”

Bull gave him another long look, but Dorian would never describe this one as “hard” or even “inscrutable.” A slow, self-satisfied grin split his face, making the edges of his eyes crinkle.

Dorian hated that grin almost as much as he loved it.

“No, I think I’m all right,” he said, a touch smugly. Too smugly for Dorian’s taste.

“Oh? Why is that?” he asked, rankled.

“Well, I’ve had a long time to consider everything that’s happened. Lot of riding between here and the Waking Sea, you know.” Bull’s mouth twitched as he tried to hide his laughter. “I’ve come to some conclusions.”

“And what are those, pray tell?” Dorian asked, resigned. He knew he was being toyed with and had been since Bull had stepped into the room. He supposed this was where all that “trust” got him. And after all his worrying beforehand…

“I think I’m going to be all right.”

Dorian smacked his head with the palm of his hand. “Of course! Problem solved! If one merely concludes that one is all right, then all questions are answered and any lingering doubts are put to rest. Such a simple solution, why didn’t I think of it?”

“Anyone ever tell you how cute it is when you try to hide how relieved you are by pretending to be annoyed?” Bull got up and laid down again with his back against the headboard.

“No, they have not. Nobody likes and angry mage,” grumbled Dorian, facing Bull and leaning on the corner post. It was not as comfortable as he had hoped. He would have to move soon if he didn’t want bruises up and down his spine.

Well, said a particularly Bull-like voice in the back of his mind, they wouldn’t be the first bruises you got in this room, or even in this bed.

He shushed the voice quickly and turned his attention back to Bull.

“Is something funny?”

Dorian shook his head. “Not at all. I’m glad you’ll be all right after this. It’s not every day you swear off your countrymen and decide to work against them in actual fact, not just in principle. I should know.”

Bull gave a half smile, but his eye looked sad.

“I must say, you’re handling it much better than I did. You’re not drunk, and you didn’t even have anyone looking out for you. Unless Krem did, of course. No? Well, then. You’re doing very well indeed.”

If Dorian didn’t know any better, he would say that Bull was monitoring his breathing. The way his chest rose and fell was slow, deep, and far too regular for this conversation. Dorian wasn’t aware of any particular breathing irregularities in himself, but he had to admit that he was growing nervous, despite his blathering words. His hands were shaking. Bull’s hands, in comparison, were clasped loosely around his middle. He was a picture of calm, cool, and collected. Dorian was almost jealous. Almost.

“You must think I’m a fool,” he said finally. “Insisting on drinking twice my weight in ale that first night. Hugging you.” He cringed at the memory. Too drunk for sense, but not drunk enough to forget. What a terrible place to stop drinking.

Bull’s eye, half lidded in the flickering lamplight, flew open. “I don’t think that.”

Dorian blinked in surprise. “You don’t?”

“No!” Bull shifted a few muscles and instantly looked alert. He hadn’t even sat up. How did he do it? “I think… What you’ve done, it’s…”

Dorian watched as Bull faltered, glanced around the room as though checking for listeners, inadvertent or otherwise. His gaze fell on the door behind Dorian (locked, Dorian knew, because he had heard Bull turn the key as he always did when they were alone), the window (overlooking a sheer drop of nearly a hundred feet, and that wasn’t even counting the mountain the tower was built on), and finally the foot of the bed he had just vacated (this one Dorian had to admit was dangerous territory. He had seen the way Bull “organized” his things and was decidedly unimpressed. Anything—or anyone—could be under this bed and no one would be the wiser).

“I don’t think I could do this at all if I didn’t have you,” said Bull in an uncharacteristically small voice.

Dorian was shocked out of his reverie. “I beg your pardon?”

“You… You did this already. You did it with… with nothing. No promise of—anything. You did what had to be done and nothing stopped you, not for one second.” Bull was looking right at Dorian now, direct and awed and shy all at once.

Dorian wordlessly stared back, just plain aghast.

“How did you do it?” Bull asked, finally sitting up and leaning toward Dorian in one intense movement. “How did you get up in the mornings, knowing that your whole life had been wasted believing in something that would only kill you?”

“Wake up in the afternoon,” murmured Dorian weakly.

Bull let out a bark of laughter. “Maybe drinking yourself into a stupor really was a strategic move, then.”

“Please don’t do what I did,” said Dorian. “I’ve been a mess. Truly.”

“I have the Chargers,” said Bull, shrugging. The sudden intensity was gone, like the sun covered by gray clouds. “They’ll look after me. I can look after them.”

Dorian swallowed, wondering how he had never noticed how well Bull hid his pain. “You’re good at that,” he said, still trying to find his bearings. “You looked after me.”

“I have the Chargers,” said Bull, shrugging. The sudden intensity was gone, like the sun covered by gray clouds. “They’ll look after me. I can look after them.”

Dorian swallowed, wondering how he had never noticed how well Bull hid his pain. “You’re good at that,” he said, still trying to find his bearings. “You looked after me.”

Bull looked at him fondly. “One night only.”

Dorian fought back a blush. How absurd, after all this time. “I meant at the tavern.”

“Right. With the drinks. That’s what I meant, too.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Bull got a strange look in his eye. “Funny, that’s pretty much what the Qun told me.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Lost in translation. Come here.” Bull opened his arms and beckoned Dorian into them.

Dorian hesitated, but only for a moment. This wasn’t their usual fare in the bedroom, but nothing about this night had been particularly normal for them. And far be it from him to refuse getting close to those excellent arms and that wonderful, broad chest. And besides, hugging had always been his idea, hadn’t it? He crawled forward.

“There,” rumbled Bull when Dorian’s cheek was pressed comfortably against Bull’s chest and Bull’s arms were around his waist. “That’s nice.”

“You’ve gotten awfully sentimental. Anything I should worry about?” It was hard to worry about anything in this position, if Dorian was being honest. He felt safe, and warm, and whatever scents Bull was wearing made him think of cinnamon. It was probably medicinal, like a salve. Dorian sighed.

“No, I think we’re good. Just going to relax now,” said Bull, closing his eye.

They stayed in each other’s arms for what seemed like hours, in silence, watching the lamplight flicker over the walls. Outside voices and footsteps grew louder and fainter as Skyhold’s guards did their rounds. The wind rose and fell, making Dorian thankful for Bull’s warm bulk to huddle against.

“Hey, I said ‘relax,’ not ‘go to sleep,’” said Bull as Dorian began to drift off.

“’S your fault. Comfortable,” mumbled Dorian, raising his head and trying to shake the sleep out of it. “’S late, too.”

“It was late when you got here,” Bull chided him. “Maybe you should go to bed.”

“Maybe I should,” said Dorian, settling back down.

“I—” Bull’s arm tightened and his fingers began tracing circles on the outside of Dorian’s upper thigh. “It would only be sleeping, Dorian. I don’t think… I don’t think I’m up for anything else tonight.”

Dorian’s eyes narrowed at the possible double entendre, but it sounded as though Bull was being completely serious. “Fine by me,” he said, worried at how much he missed Bull’s stupid guffaw. “You know, when you say you’re not ‘up’ for much…”

Bull chortled, jostling Dorian’s head and mussing his mustache. He regretted everything now. Pointing the pun out had been a terrible mistake. “Ha, you’re right. Can’t believe I almost let that one slip by me.”

Dorian sincerely hoped he wouldn’t find a way to make something rude out of ‘slip,’ or ‘slippery.’ It was bad enough that Dorian had had to suffer through a joke Bull hadn’t even intended to make, without also having to suffer through more in the same… vein.

Kaffas, the man was infecting him. He was definitely keeping that one to himself.

He settled back down, closed his eyes, and tried to fall asleep more fully this time. The palm on his hip helped, and the gentle lines that Bull was continuing to sketch absentmindedly along the outside of his leg most assuredly helped, but the pounding he heard in Bull’s chest did not. “Are you… quite all right?” he asked.

“Never better,” said Bull, and sounded like he meant it. His heartbeat sped up, however.

Dorian hated to ask again, so he didn’t. “You’re trying to slow your heartbeat,” he accused, after a few minutes. “You know I can hear it.”

“Fine, you got me. What’s your point?” Bull’s fingertips stopped their movements.

Dorian chose his next words carefully. “The last thing I want to do tonight is make you uncomfortable. If you’re having any misgivings about what we’re doing here, please just say the word.”

“I’m not uncomfortable.”

“That’s not quite the glowing review I was hoping for,” said Dorian, wondering if double negatives worked better or worse in Qunlat.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with you,” said Bull. “Wait, no, that came out wrong.”

“I see,” said Dorian, hoping he sounded less hurt than he felt.

“You’re helping,” said Bull quickly, shifting so that he could look at Dorian more fully. “I would be uncomfortable without you here. Right here. I’m—It’s—”

Suddenly Dorian felt himself being gathered up in a bone-crushing hug. He went with it willingly, wrapping his arms around Bull’s neck and hooking his chin over his shoulder, careful of the horns. Bull took a deep, shuddering breath, and Dorian was terrified to learn how close to tears he was—they both were.

“I thought I admired you before,” murmured Bull, “but now, after going through this, and knowing… knowing what you had to do…”

“Bull…” said Dorian.

“I think you’re the bravest man I’ve ever met,” said Bull with finality. “And I’m glad you’re here. With me.”

“Oh,” said Dorian.

“I keep thinking that if you’re near, I can take some of that strength. Leech it off of you or something. And then maybe getting up tomorrow won’t be as bad.”

“That’s, um…” Dorian struggled for words. “Ridiculous.”

Bull let out a shaky laugh.

Dorian felt wholly unprepared for this onslaught, despite what Bull seemed to think. “In any case,” he said, gathering what few wits he had left, “I’m not leaving. Not tonight. Not unless you want me to.”

“Stay,” said Bull, loosening his grip. “Stay.”

Dorian nodded and slid back down to the mattress. He gathered the blankets around them and moved in close to Bull’s side. There wasn’t nearly as much skin-to-skin contact as before, but perhaps that had only added to Bull’s mood. Instead, he found Bull’s hand underneath the covers and threaded his fingers with what remained of Bull’s digits. He thought he felt, rather than saw, Bull’s smile.

“Thanks.”

“Not at all,” yawned Dorian. “To be honest, I thought maybe it was the hug thing again. This is much better.”


	3. Chapter 3

Nearly a year had passed since the Inquisition had defeated Corypheus. Inquisitor Cadash had done her duty to the best of her abilities: Leliana sat on the Sunburst Throne in Val Royeaux, despite a last minute push for the very first mage Divine. The Inquisition had led a successful invasion of the Arbor Wilds, and although the witch who had drunk from the mysterious Well of Sorrows had disappeared, most were relieved that their Inquisitor—their Herald, still, in their heart of hearts—remained untouched by strange elvhen magics. Emperor Gaspard sat on the throne of Orlais with ambassador Briala as a guiding force in all his dealings. Some whispered that the Inquisitor had purposefully hesitated at the fateful moment when the late Empress Celene’s life was in danger, but few believed the rumor. After all, how could a simple Carta dwarf know how to play the Game so skillfully? Surely the tension between the warmonger and the master spy who both owed their current position to the machinations of one dwarf was a lucky outcome she did not intentionally achieve. And all the while, Grey Wardens from Orlais and Ferelden worked tirelessly to rid the lands of darkspawn using their swords, not blood magic rituals, as they should have been doing since the Fifth Blight. Now that they were under the watchful eye of Inquisition soldiers and agents, however, trust was beginning to reestablish itself among the people of Thedas. All in all, it was the most successful widespread peace the Dragon Age had seen thus far.

Bull was appalled at how much he was enjoying it. Having spent his whole life working toward “peace”—which, toward the end there, he had hoped he would never see come to pass—he had expected to be more at odds with actual peacetime conditions. Instead, he found himself lounging with the Chargers in the Herald’s Rest and loving the talk and laughter he found there. He would wander into Dorian’s library (technically the Inquisition’s library, but no one ever said so in front of Dorian) and read for hours in comfortable silence with his kadan. Sometimes he trained in the courtyard with anyone who challenged him to a fight, and usually won. And best of all, whenever the Boss asked him to settle some dispute between Orlesian nobles, or ride out with her on increasingly far-flung rift-closing trips, or take care of whatever else needed bashing in, he would go out, commit some acts of mindless violence, and come home again. It was as close to perfection as he had ever dreamed.

He knew it couldn’t last.

Today he was waiting in the courtyard, but not because he thought the practice ring might open up soon. No, today was the day that Dorian and the Inquisitor (and Josephine and Madame de Fer and Cassandra) returned from a diplomatic mission to Orlais. Those were happening more frequently now, and only added to Bull’s misgivings about the longevity of his current life of leisure. Nothing good happened in Val Royeaux—nothing that required hours upon hours of secret meetings and somewhat private banquets and very public balls, that is. The fact that Cadash had brought the very best in her arsenal in terms of diplomacy, fashion, and rank spoke volumes.

Bull shook his head and sighed. This was not what he wanted to be thinking about as Dorian walked through the front gates.

Suddenly horns blared and a crier called out that the Inquisitor had returned. A small crowd gathered in front of Bull as the portcullis was raised and the first of the Inquisition’s absurdly large cavalcade rode through. Dorian was somewhere in the middle, after all the guards but before the baggage train. Obviously.

Bull looked him over eagerly as he slid off his horse and handed his reins to a groom. He got a pretty good view before Dorian started searching for him in the crowd, which didn’t take long. Having horns and standing a full head and shoulders over everyone else came in handy sometimes. Their eyes met and Dorian’s lips eased into an affectionate smile. Bull was grinning so hard he thought his face might break.

“Kadan,” he boomed, pushing forward. The crowd parted before him like water.

Dorian rolled his eyes as Bull swept him up into a great bear hug. “Bull,” he said evenly, but Bull cut him off from anything else he was about to say with a big, sloppy kiss.

The crowd ignored them. Before, it might have gained them a few cheers and whistles, but everyone was used to their nonsense now.

Dorian was also used to it. “Put me down,” he said when Bull paused for air. His mouth was severe, but his eyes were dancing.

Bull obliged. “How was your trip?” he asked, taking a saddle bag as Dorian handed it to him wordlessly.

“Long. Uneventful. You would have hated it.”

“Debrief at the war table in half an hour,” called Cadash after them as they walked up the stairs.

Dorian waved an acknowledging hand behind him. “Nothing got done, as usual. The Orlesians are being more difficult than I would have expected, considering their situation. They fawned and fussed over us from noon ‘til night, but at the end of the day what they really want is for us to rejoin the Chantry. And you know how Cadash feels about that.”

“I thought Red was taking care of that,” said Bull, his mouth twisting.

“Divine Victoria is working against a host of nobles who both resent and envy the Inquisition’s power. Her delaying tactics are inspired, but that’s all they are—delays. Eventually there will be an Exalted Council.” Dorian sighed as Bull pushed open the door to their suite and set the bags down.

“What, and all your fancy new duds couldn’t make them change their minds? I like the purple,” said Bull, nodding at Dorian’s robes, which he definitely had not owned when he left for the Orlesian capital weeks ago.

“These old things?” sniffed Dorian. “I think they were in fashion in Minrathous when I left to join the Inquisition. They didn’t do so badly with the collar, though,” he added magnanimously as an afterthought.

Bull inspected the collar, tilting his head for a better angle. It did frame Dorian’s throat nicely, he had to admit. But he was more of the opinion that Dorian’s neck just looked nice, and any collar would look good on it. No collar would look nice. No collar was best. He smiled at the thought.

“Yes?” said Dorian, looking up at him. “I see you’ve grown your hair out.” He reached out a hand and ran his fingers through it. “I didn’t think I had been gone so long.”

“I needed to cut it before you left,” said Bull, shrugging. “I just haven’t gotten around to it.” And Dorian always played with it in his idle moments, a sensation Bull loved and would fall asleep to, if he wasn’t careful.

“Hm,” said Dorian quietly.

Bull knew that look. “What is it, Kadan?”

“I’m afraid…” Dorian looked at him sadly. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to go back to Tevinter. Soon.”

Bull nodded. They had spoken about this before, with Dorian telling of all his big—some might say impossible—dreams about saving his homeland from the corruption of the Magisterium. This was neither a new nor settled idea between them.

At first, Bull had been against the very mention of Dorian leaving, but had kept his mouth shut. It was clearly something Dorian felt very strongly about, and Bull couldn’t blame him and didn’t have the heart to shatter this new ambition. He hoped that not bringing it up would let the aspirations die kindly.

As time went on, however, Bull realized that Dorian’s drive to abolish slavery and put an end to ritual blood magic was not only growing stronger, but becoming more realistic. It was a startling moment when he found himself making suggestions and pointing out minor flaws in Dorian’s plans. He knew how deadly and deadening Tevinter politics could be, but Dorian’s fervor was… inspiring. The way he talked about legal possibilities and political maneuvering made Bull think—even for a second—that change was possible in a country that had been practicing blood magic on slaves for over a thousand years.

Eventually, Bull accepted that Dorian’s dreams were not going to just go away, and instead of ignoring the inevitable, he began planning his own future.

“How soon?” he asked, sitting on the chaise lounge that was far too small for him.

“Not for a few weeks. Cadash wants us in the Frostback Basin, did you know? Something about the Avvar. I wasn’t listening too closely, I’ll have to ask her about it during the briefing. But… I think just after the next full moon. Maevaris is already planning the reception.”

Bull nodded again. That would give him enough time to figure something out. “I think the boys and I will have business up in the Free Marches in a few weeks,” he said.

“The—Bull, you can’t mean…” Dorian stepped forward. “You can’t come with me.”

“Of course not. I’m no more welcome in Tevinter than I am in Par Vollen.”

Dorian sputtered some attempt at a contradiction of this analysis, but they both knew Bull wasn’t far off the mark. Bull loved him for trying, though.

“But I’m not going to sit around here with you so far away. And you’re definitely not going up there without some kind of backup.” Bull looked up at Dorian from his seat and squared his shoulders.

“Backup?” echoed Dorian.

Bull raised an eyebrow. “Tevinter politics are dangerous, Kadan. You know it. I know it. If you need some extra muscle—or worse, a quick escape—”

“It’s not permanent,” said Dorian. “I’ll be back and forth for a few months, that’s all. You needn’t uproot yourself just for—for this.”

Bull shook his head. “You can’t fix the whole Imperium in a few months. You’re impressive, but even I think it’ll take you at least a year.”

Dorian snorted. “My biggest fan doesn’t believe I can undo centuries of corruption in under a year. You cut me to the quick, Bull.”

“Hey. I still think you could do it all with an aggressive letter writing campaign. You’re very persuasive on paper, you know,” said Bull, standing up and reaching out to him.

“Hm. Only on paper?” Dorian stepped forward eagerly, running his hands along Bull’s forearms as he stepped into Bull’s embrace.

“Fine. Everywhere else, too. You’re a real catch.” One of Bull’s hands slid around his waist.

Dorian’s eyes crinkled. “You’re not so bad yourself, Amatus. You’d go all that way for me?” He reached up and cradled Bull’s cheek.

Bull leaned into it, closing his eye. “Farther. This isn’t something I want to give up, Kadan.”

“Are you sure it’s enough?” Dorian’s voice was tight with fear and doubt.

“Absolutely,” said Bull, kissing the palm of Dorian’s hand. “It’s more than enough.”

Dorian beamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this lovely artwork is by badpriestessofbuttsburgh at https://badpriestessofbuttsburgh.tumblr.com. Go check her out!


End file.
